A story of history and mythology meets 1980’s Iran in Boston University playwright Isabelle Fereshteh Sanatdar Stevens’ latest play “The Fig Tree, and The Phoenix, and The Desire to be Reborn,” which is showing at the Boston Playwrights’ Theatre.
As part of BU’s Master of Fine Arts in Playwriting program’s collaboration with the theatre, The Fig Tree will run from Feb. 20 to March 9 as a part of the Spring Repertory Festival, alongside another show written by program scholar Brandon Zang.
The Fig Tree’s 80-minute, no-intermission run follows young Mandana, played by Minou Pourshariati, and Javeed, played by Danny Bryck. The play follows the pair’s attempts to be brave and remake the world into one that is kind and good. Set in the backdrop of the Iran-Iraq War, the show is all at once blindingly hopeful and sharply tragic.
Stevens, an Iranian-American playwright, incorporated Iranian culture and mythology throughout many aspects of the play. The show starts off with the story of Tishtrya, a Zoroastrian mythological figure, and most of the play is set in front of a tapestry with many animal symbols drawn onto it, keeping in line with the Iranian “pardeh khani” storytelling tradition.
What was immediately engaging about the show was its use of lighting. In mythology, Tishtrya is the deity ruling over the star Sirius, one of the brightest stars of the night sky. It’s no surprise then that the lighting of the set was incredibly intentional, giving the audience a sense of floating through the galaxy as twinkling blue stars danced on the ceiling.
The only two characters of the show, Mandana and Javeed, had a very lively physicality to them. As two 8-year-olds moved through both the grief of war and innocence of childhood, the actors used exaggerated movements to convey the children’s larger-than-life imaginations and heavy sorrow.
The Fig Tree maintains a funny and lighthearted tone for the majority of its run, but the backdrop of war is never too far.
It was easy to get lost in the kids’ make-believe worlds and childlike banter, but Stevens always kept fear — of violence, of bombs, of war — as a central theme, creeping into the back of my mind. I was anxious for their safety the entire time.
As I watched Mandana and Javeed get to know one another through their imaginative worlds, I felt a sharp sense of bittersweet hopefulness throughout the story. Though the battlefield and the bombs always loomed over them, it was beautiful to see two young kids boldly dream of a better future, yet heartbreaking to see them small and fearful in their present life.
Javeed, a young boy who loves to talk and tell stories, tugged on my heartstrings as he talked about losing his father, caring for his mother and sister and being disappointed at himself. In the madness of war, Javeed’s guilt at not being braver for his family and country was gut-wrenching.
Mandana, on the other hand, proudly proclaims that she is scared of nothing at the start of the show. She’s on a mission to get to Iraq, and no matter how scary that prospect may seem to anyone else, she’s determined to get there. This character provoked a different kind of sorrow in me as I progressively got to see her tough shell come off and hear her talk about her dreams for the future.
While many references to Zoroastrian tradition are mentioned, my lack of prior knowledge didn’t impede me from following the story well. This tale of grief, violence and hope is one that transcends cultures despite being deeply steeped in Iranian history.
The end of the show tied in the storylines of both children and Tishtrya, and it provoked a sharp feeling of heartbreak in me that only the topic of war can reach. Not only did I feel for Mandana and Javeed and all of the countless other children living through war, but the play also left me with a bitter sense of injustice.
The last scene of the play is focused on Tishtrya. The actors, now taking on the persona of the god, speak partially towards audience members now. They, as deities, make references to the cycle of war and how it continues to live on today, referencing olive trees now instead of fig trees, which is potentially a nod towards the horrors of the Israel-Palestine conflict.
Stevens showcases the power of hope in hopeless situations and the consequences of war on innocent civilians. By connecting Zoroastrian mythology to the Iran-Iraq War and then to Israel and Palestine, Steven implores viewers to fight, and to let light and goodness prevail over evil.
With brilliant set design, excellent lighting and a great message, The Fig Tree left me feeling both brave and heavyhearted. Despite the constant cycle of pain, misery and violence, Stevens’ play earnestly believes that it is possible for the world to be better, and you just can’t help but believe her.
